A Breach of Immunity

By Timothy Bullard

Cameron Collins is a businessman of epic dimensions; the skyline of Dallas has been influenced by his hand and his holdings. "A Breach of Immunity" is his story, one that traverses the heartbreak of his only child's death.

The story traces the continuum of Cameron's wealthy, advantaged background, his placid marriage, and his one true joy, his daughter. When she is torn from his life, his existence becomes one of hatred and dejection, and he stumbles through the foreign territory of the humble man desperately searching for answers.

Cameron's daughter, Elaine Collins, has been murdered near her prestigious college campus. A suspect named Ricardo Montero is quickly taken into custody. Cameron leaves his home, his business, and his wife, to be closer to the proceedings. He sets up a makeshift residence in Miami, accompanied only by his trusted employee, Scotty McPherson. Cameron's nemesis in business, Terrence Mobley, is an attorney and aspiring politician. He agrees to represent the defendant. Outraged, Cameron confronts him throughout the story, and the two square off, vowing to stop at nothing to protect their polar opposite interests.

As the months pass and the certainty of the trial evaporates, Cameron begins to lose hope of ever finding answers about the crime which has altered so many lives. Follow Collins through the chaos of stunning twists and turns, as a hurricane ravages his city, a prison hit shocks the community, and a scandal of tremendous proportions is revealed.

"A Breach of Immunity" won 2nd place in the Royal Palm Literary Contest (2009), for unpublished Mainstream novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timothy Bullard
• Release date: Jan 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781463765972

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A BREACH OF IMMUNITY

Copyright © 2011 Timothy Bullard & Jayne Calvin

Published by Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in articles and reviews. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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The views expressed in this work are solely those of the authors.

For more information, please visit www.jaynecalvinwrites.com

This novel is dedicated in memory of Marcelino Huerta III, a prominent defense attorney and dear friend whose time on earth was cut short. Marcelino, known to his friends as Bubba, gave his time graciously to so many. We were among the benefactors of that time as he edited and critiqued this manuscript providing invaluable insights. He was an honor to his profession, demonstrating the best of values. All who knew him miss his wonderful smile and infectious laughter.

A Breach of Immunity

-----

A novel by

Timothy Bullard and Jayne Calvin

Prologue

Dawn was approaching by the time the small man extricated himself from the passenger’s seat of the gold Lexus. He worked quickly to push a figure over toward the driver’s side of the car. The body of a young woman slumped forward, surrendered to the brutality she had endured. His arms trembled from the exertion. Grunting, he tucked her knees up onto the seat, and folded her arms behind her head. Her blond hair fell forward like silk over a split, oozing lip. He jerked her head back roughly, but it flopped forward again the moment he released his grip. Cursing, he grabbed her high-heeled sandals from the floor of the car and forced them onto her feet.

Sliding out, he shut the door quietly, and brushed off his jeans. He gave a tug to his zipper. His oversized sneakers were untied. He didn’t notice.

He straightened, looking around nervously. The car was parked at the end of a white sand alley. The gravelly chirp of crickets enveloped him. It was hot, a sullen, heavy Miami heat that infused everything it touched. The man wiped sweat from his face as he stood, considering his next move.

After a moment, he stripped his tee- shirt off and began wiping every surface of the car that he had touched. He had painstakingly done the same thing to the interior before exiting. Sure, he had been with the girl sexually, but there wasn’t anything he could do to erase that now. Anyway, it had been worth it. She had fought like a caged tiger, just the way he liked it. Too bad he had to snuff the life from her before he could really enjoy the act. But she had put up a good enough fight. He had to give her that. Now, he was worried about leaving proof that he had been in the Lexus. It could complicate things, and he hated complications.

He wasted no time, his muscled, wiry body rippling smoothly as he polished the door handles, windows, and bumper. He wiped the hood and trunk for good measure, though he remembered touching neither.

Again, he looked around; again, the alley was quiet. A fly buzzed at a deep scratch on his right cheek. He swatted at it angrily. He had told the girl to take off the ring. Bitch had refused. But he had it, now. He curled his fingers around the ruby and diamond band, smiling with a mean satisfaction.

Sweat trickled into his eyes. A nagging fear told him there were more tracks to cover. He stood considering, then reached deeply into his dirty jeans pocket and pulled out a royal blue lighter. He ran a dirty finger over the curled, ragged edge of the decal. It pictured a naked blond in high heels, arms tucked behind her head, her caricature bust pushed forward. It was cheap and garish, one of his treasures from his year spent in Miami. Sometimes, on quiet nights, he stared at the decal as he fell asleep, dreaming of being with the woman. But tonight had been better. Tonight had been real.

He jogged around to the driver’s side and cupped his hands to the glass. He stayed there for a long moment, his breath fogging his view. There she was- his real-life lighter girl, just as pretty, and posed the same.

Covering his hand with his t-shirt, he carefully opened the back door of the Lexus and brushed his hand over the fabric. If he torched the scene, he wouldn’t have to worry about the evidence at all. He flicked the lighter, with an instant burst of gold flame. He touched it to the cloth seat. It smoldered, and then died. There was a photograph on the backseat of the car. The young woman’s face smiled from its center, eyes wide, her expression trusting. Contemptuously, he touched the flame to it. The edge curled in protest, then burst. It was a cinder in seconds.

Cursing, he flicked the lighter again and again. Tiny flames would catch the cloth momentarily, then extinguish. The interior of the car was beginning to fill with acrid smoke. His hand was shaking.

A bird cried out overhead, making him jump. He pulled out of the car to see the first glimmer of light licking the horizon. He was out of time. He would have to forgo torching the vehicle.

He closed the door and pulled his t-shirt on. He cast one backward glance at the window, and then kicked the tire. Cursing once more, he slid into the underbrush and away from the alley.

Chapter One

Cameron Collins stood alone in his office, gazing through the bay window overlooking the Dallas skyline. The sight of the tastefully overdone skyscrapers had always lifted his spirits. Over the years, he had acquired the predominant share of the massive marble skyline, and took special pride in its viewing. But today his eyes rested on the buildings, unable to appreciate their magic. Instead, his mind teemed with dark, unwanted images, nightmares from the recent news of his only daughter’s death. His deep brown eyes were exhausted and red, his shirt lightly spotted with unwanted tears. He wiped a cheek with the back of his hand and leaned his forehead against the plate glass, his fingers resting on the marble sill.

He was unaware of his chauffeur and friend, Scotty McPherson, slipping soundlessly through the partially opened door. Cameron was isolated in his own internal landscape, wrapped in a dull blanket of muffled thought and sound. Scotty remained quiet until Cameron turned to face him.

Oh, Scotty. I guess it’s time, isn’t it. He wiped his cheek again, hand trembling slightly. His well pressed dress shirt and gold monogrammed cuffs were a heartbreaking backdrop to his emotion. He made no move, though he knew it was time to head out. His head drooped; his usual straight posture appeared to be draining out of his feet. Like a child, he awaited instruction.

Scotty cleared his throat. A taller, stocky man, with thinning strawberry hair combed carefully beneath his cap, he appeared sturdy and capable, and a contrast to Cameron’s physique. Yes, Sir, Mr. Collins. They’re waiting on us at the Love. I picked up the items you requested, and left the number of the hotel with Lee. She promises to deliver it to Mrs. Collins. The Mrs. was locked up in her room. She didn’t wish to speak to anyone.

Yes. Well. Understandable. Cameron idly picked up a gold letter opener from his heavy desk and slid the blade between his thick fingers before dropping it again. Clearly, he did not want to leave. Looking up to meet Scotty’s clear blue eyes for the first time, he realized the man was fighting his own emotions. Quickly, he looked away. Repressing the urge to embrace Scotty, he pulled his well-cut suit jacket from the back of his leather chair and pushed an arm through. Scotty assisted with the other, giving his arm a gruff pat that would suffice for words.

Damn, Scotty. How can I do this?

I don’t know, sir, he replied, falling in step behind his boss as they exited the inner office and approached the sleek elevator doors. The gleaming rosewood panels and overhead chandelier cast a dim, somehow respectful, light over them. Cameron stood with his arms folded over his chest, a small, compact and well built man, thick gray hair neatly cut, dark eyes approaching black. Cameron reflected dully to himself that Scotty’s height was his most noticeable feature; at nearly six foot four, virtually everyone had to look up to meet his pale blue gaze. Neither broke the uncomfortable silence.

At the lobby, Scotty held the door open to allow Cameron’s exit. Stepping into the sharp night air, he hailed a cab. It pulled smoothly to the curb, and Cameron and Scotty folded inside before the press could begin their descent. Cameron laid his head on the leather behind him and began to cry. Scotty reached forward and slid the glass partition closed discretely, to the apparent disappointment of the interested driver. He held the driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror for a moment, a silent warning.

I’m not. . . I’m not sure I can do this, Scotty, Cameron said brokenly.

I’ll be there with you, Sir. We will do what we must.

God, Scotty, do you think he mutilated my little girl? Both hands covered his face, his shoulders bent forward. His wedding band gleamed in the soft dome light. His fingers were wet with tears. Scotty touched the corner of his own eye, and adjusted his cap before speaking.

Please, Mr. Collins. Don’t torture yourself this way.

That detective, Alvarez, told me it was bad. He gulped for air. But he didn’t specify. I didn’t tell Elizabeth much about it.

Right. She probably only needs to know what she can handle. It’s best that she stay at home.

Man’s work, thought Cameron bitterly. This is man’s work. But why is it easier for a father to behold his child’s lifeless body? Hadn’t he held her as a newborn too, her skin so soft it was almost electric, pulsing with new life, sweet fists balled tightly and batting at nothing? He was there for her first magical smile, so gummy and exuberant that it made him stand still. Hadn’t she placed her little toddler hands on each of his cheeks, tugging at his ears and asking for stories? Hadn’t he been there when she wet the bed the night before school, crying with embarrassment? And what about the first boy she brought home, her sweet smile splitting her face and showing braces, navy and silver to match her cheerleading uniform? He had been there; he had been there every time. His agony could not be more in his bones if he had borne her for nine months.

You’re right, Scotty, was all he said. I’m glad you’re here. He appeared to be imploding with his own grief, and Scotty sat a silent vigil beside him.

Cameron’s Lear jet was waiting as they pulled into Love airport. Any other day, he would have piloted the craft, but tonight, he motioned his co-pilot to the control panel. He had no desire to occupy the cockpit, opting instead for a window seat near the back. Despite a sleepless stretch and two shots of scotch in anticipation of this event, he could not shut down his mental engine. He was pierced endlessly with the thoughts of the horrific task ahead, and the horrific events just passed. Back and forth, back and forth, his mind rolled over the sea of all that had happened. He relived the last forty-eight hours compulsively, aching to change the outcome.

Two days before, life had been a pleasant hum of routine events. Cameron had awakened and prepared himself for the day’s meetings, dressing impeccably after his morning workout and scan of the headlines. Just before he left his large, gracious home, the phone interrupted the peaceful morning. Elizabeth hadn’t even been awake. It was a detective from the Metro-Dade Police Department. A body had been found. Elaine Collin’s purse and driver’s license had been in the front seat. The body was found in a gold Lexus. What? Cameron had repeated, feeling stupid. He didn’t understand.

Slowly, sickly, he began to. She hadn’t shown up at a party she had promised to be at. The detective had already questioned school authorities, and gotten the name of Elaine’s dorm roommate during their freshman year. The girls had both been moved to a condominium during the sophomore year, and remained neighbors and close friends. The girl, Haley Miller, said they had been partying the night before. She didn’t know what had happened to Elaine after they parted ways. Cameron had frantically thrown clothes into an overnight bag as he roused his wife to tell her the news. She reacted slowly, shock insulating her senses.

Maybe it isn’t Elaine. It can’t be, she had said, crying brokenly.

Elaine was a free spirit in the sense that she traveled spontaneously and had many friends; and sometimes, she stayed out all night. But she always, always kept in touch with her parents. He had known from the first moment the phone rang that something was wrong, and he resented Elizabeth’s muted reaction, though he himself felt dead.

Tell me exactly what they said, Elizabeth had stammered as she watched him pack.

At six A.M., a gold Lexus was found partially torched, with a dead woman inside. Elaine’s car, and a woman slumped in the front seat, bruised and battered. Whoever had attempted to set the car on fire had done a poor job of it. The car had been parked in the seediest district of inner Miami, at the end of a deserted alley, partially hidden from view in some tangled brush. Tears dripped on Cameron’s bag as he spoke.

It’s probably not her, Elizabeth said stubbornly. She’s probably at a friend’s house. Maybe her car was stolen.

Cameron hadn’t replied. He had wanted to get out of the confines of his house, ached to be anywhere else.

Elizabeth had shut down, locking Cameron out along with the rest of the world. Cameron had asked Scotty all the burning questions he could not keep from crowding his sanity.

The mental torment eased momentarily as the jet skipped down once, twice, then skimmed to the terminal in Miami. But the relief was short lived. A large, dark haired man with serious eyes met Cameron and Scotty at the gate. He extended a square hand at the same time that he displayed his silver badge.

Mr. Collins?

Yes. Cameron Collins had a face that would be recognized by most in America and some overseas. The billionaire businessman had been featured dozens of times in business journals and news publications. He was no stranger to the national news, and frequently appeared on financial broadcasts, speaking about the markets, especially real estate, which was his forte.

Mr. Collins, I am Detective Ramon Alvarez. We spoke this morning on the phone.

Yes. Cameron’s voice was dull and low. He extended his hand to the Detective. This is my chauffeur and friend, Scotty McPherson.

Scotty nodded and extended a broad hand also.

Mr. Collins, our entire department sends condolences, Alvarez added. His words, though formal, rang with sincerity.

Thank you for that kindness.

Shall we get this done, or do you need to rest?

Cameron looked at Scotty, who remained silent. He pulled a deep breath. I won’t rest either way. Let’s get it done.

Well, then. There seemed little more to say, and Alvarez guided Cameron lightly by the elbow through the gate and to a waiting limousine. Turning to Scotty, he asked, May I arrange transportation for you to the hotel?

He will stay with me, Cameron jumped in quickly.

The ride to the medical examiner’s office was completely silent, except for an occasional siren from the streets of Miami. The wail was lonely and thin, the sound swirling around the three of them, seeming to anchor them to the fabric of their seats. Cameron wiped frequent tears. He watched Alvarez and Scotty focusing on passing scenes through the deeply tinted glass.

Within moments, the limousine stopped at a boxy, windowless brick building. Cameron stepped out and looked up. He gauged it to be about four stories high. Sensing Alvarez at his side, he turned.

Sir, the Detective said solemnly, there is really no good way to prepare you for this moment. But, I must tell you that the body is bruised and wounded. The cause of death has been determined as asphyxiation. There was evidence of recent sexual intercourse. We ask only that you look for any identifying birth marks, or that you are able to recognize your child beyond doubt.

Yes. I understand. Cameron’s demeanor had become stony now; a surreal feeling deadened his senses as surely as a welcome narcotic or shot of scotch.

Silently, the three of them climbed the outside stairs, their steps sounding gritty under the harsh streetlight. Cameron felt as removed from the scene as an actor in a film. As the door opened, Alvarez revealed his badge to security. The young man waved him through with a cursory nod.

Dr. Holtzman, please, Alvarez said to a middle-aged woman behind a small metal desk. She buzzed a short series of numbers. No one spoke. A neon light flickered overhead, pulsing with the throb in Cameron’s head. Before they could sit, a heavy man with a closely cropped gray beard appeared from a side door. He wore a plain white lab coat. His expression was neutral.

Cameron’s entire body tightened, his fists clenching unconsciously.

I’m Dr. Holtzman, the man said, extending his hand. Chief Medical Examiner for Dade County.

Cameron nodded, mute.

I will take you to the morgue. Detective Alvarez has instructed you as to what we need. Allow me to say that I am sorry for this moment.

He turned, and Alvarez guided Cameron through a large steel door, Scotty close behind. Cameron felt his legs weaken and he struggled to keep them moving forward. His heart raced with unnatural force. Scotty placed a firm hand on his right shoulder, Alvarez a tight grip on his left elbow.

A huge row of stainless steel doors stood a few yards across the large, sterile expanse of room. The light had a greenish cast, making Cameron feel sick. The first table was draped with a simple white sheet, the soft mounds of a body’s landscape beneath it. He moaned, and Alvarez and Scotty gently pulled him the last few feet. He wanted to turn and run, but his eyes were fixed on the gentle slope of white. The strong stench of formaldehyde stung his eyes.

Scotty’s grip intensified on Cameron’s shoulder as Dr. Holtzman partially turned back the drape. Lifeless gold hair fanned on the sheet below the face. It was Elaine, his Elaine, the treasure of his life. Her face was indeed bruised and swollen, but still recognizable. Her mouth, always her most beautiful feature, was partially open, the lip split and scabbed. Her eyes were closed, mercifully, the long lashes matted. Her right ear was purple. Cameron pulled the sheet back a little further, blanching at the heavy black autopsy stitches. He stood unmoving. All eyes riveted on his hard face, frozen in the moment. He merely nodded. Dr. Holtzman covered her, carefully.

No one breathed as Cameron turned on his heel and walked back toward the expanse of stainless steel doors. But then, the silence broke and splintered into pieces as he slammed his fist, over and over, onto the unyielding, cold surface. Weeping bitterly, he cried God damn the one who did this. Please God, please damn the one. Please. His sobs echoed off of the tile walls as his grief gave way. He sank down, then allowed kind hands to pick him up and help him out, though later, he would not remember leaving.

The group of tired men propped Cameron against a wall outside. He sat, his knees tucked tightly under him, rocking and crying for some time. The others stood quietly, in the embarrassed, sad way that men have during times of raw pain and loss. Occasionally, a handkerchief would be removed from a pocket and a nose would be loudly blown. Finally, Detective Alvarez stooped in front of Cameron. He lowered his head to find Cameron’s eyes. Cameron surprised him by snapping to life and grabbing his lapels with ferocity. You get the bastard who did this to my Lanie, he hissed.

Alvarez maintained his balance with some difficulty. The knuckles of Cameron’s right hand were scraped and bleeding from the door’s bludgeoning. His eyes were murderous. Eyeball to eyeball, the two men regarded one another, both breathing heavily.

Yes, Mr. Collins, Alvarez said softly. That’s the plan.

Cameron released him, and lowered his head again, spent.

We need to spend a few moments in the medical examiner’s office, Mr. Collins, Alvarez said. Cameron found his legs as unsteady as before. He glanced back at the heavy door, not wanting to leave his child behind. But Alvarez and Scotty took over, guiding him through motions he was scarcely aware of.

Sliding a sheath of papers in front of him, Alvarez said, Here are all of the official documents. We have searched your daughter’s apartment thoroughly, and you are now free to go there and pick up her belongings. We took special care in handling her things. Cameron said nothing, signing the forms robotically.

The arrangements have been made to escort the two of you back to the hotel. Alvarez rose heavily, his task here done. His eyes were drooping and sad, red-rimmed like a hound dog. He and Dr. Holtzman walked the two to the outer door. Call me at any time. We will be in touch.

Cameron and Scotty stepped into the cool night, the taller man’s arm encircling the smaller one, protectively. At the last moment, Cameron turned.

Dr. Holtzman, I do have one small request.

Yes, Sir.

I would like for you to save me a small lock of my girl’s hair.

The battle-hardened forensic specialist’s eyes welled. Of course. Of Course. Cameron felt a tiny flame of life within his psyche extinguish with the closing of the door.

Cameron attracted flutters of attention as he approached the counter at the Ritz Carlton. His suit, as crumpled and exhausted as he was after two days of wear, gave him the look of a wealthy binge drinker. His face, dotted with day old stubble, was gray and lined. Yet with his name came instant recognition.

Oh, Mr. Collins. May we escort you directly to your room? We have your information on file.

Please, he replied shortly.

And your chauffeur? His room is also ready.

He will stay with me in the penthouse suite, Cameron interjected, glancing at Scotty to catch his quick nod. There’s plenty of room.

Of course, the clerk replied, keeping her eyes discretely on her keyboard. The news of Elaine Collins was top story on every local station, as well as every national cable network. No one was going to question Cameron Collins on any decision made tonight.

The bell captain opened the penthouse door with a flourish, and the scent of opulence greeted the three men. Expensive